Thanksgiving

In the tiny bedroom, the mustiness of damp grownup coats and gloves mingled with the scent of roast turkey and pies.

Cousins and second cousins were hunkered down on the floor, by the heating vent, shushing each other.

None of them could remember how it had happened, only that now this was a Thanksgiving ritual here at Aunt Nora’s house.

Because this was where they could hear the adults talking around the big table set up in the basement, and it was a delicious thrill to know they were spying on them.

They also learned how damn boring adults are.